


Love Comes in the Mail

by tuesday



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, Blow Jobs, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mail Order Brides, Marriage Pollen, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-14 07:43:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20597171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesday
Summary: "I think you know why I called you here today," Tony says, solemn as he can manage, though his lips twitch before he can get his expression under control.





	Love Comes in the Mail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pleurer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleurer/gifts).

> Peter's in college in this, Pepper and Tony aren't together, and it's not Endgame compliant.
> 
> Written for the request: "Mail-Order Spouse Pollen Makes Single Victims Sign Up As Mail-Order Brides/Grooms."
> 
> Personal notes: OPD: 9/11. AOD: 9/20.
> 
> Extremely spoilery content notes on the consent issues tag at the end.

"I think you know why I called you here today," Tony says, solemn as he can manage, though his lips twitch before he can get his expression under control.

Peter definitely knows why if the embarrassed curve to his shoulders is any indication. He looks like the personification of one of those dog shaming pictures. "Yes," his expression seems to say, "I was caught red-handed with the trash can lid stuck on my head and the contents of the bin strewn about my feet." There's no trash can, but Peter seems very aware of his misdeeds.

And yet what he actually says is, "Nothing's coming to mind, Mr. Stark."

"Let me refresh your memory, set the scene. A little over a week ago today, the labs." Where they're standing right now actually. "You were by the scanner with everyone else. I was the one working it. I asked, 'Did you get hit by the pollen, Mr. Parker?' You said, 'No, Mr. Stark, I kept my mask on the whole time.'" Tony pitches his voice a little too high when imitating Peter. Peter's face goes dark. "And I let you go, trusting you to be honest with me."

"I was honest with you," Peter says.

"Then why—" Tony cues up the display, the browser showing a certain website congratulating Tony on his purchase. "—did I just buy your hand in marriage on a shady mail order bride and bridegroom service?"

"I kept my mask on, but there was still some on my gloves when I took the suit off," Peter says.

"And you didn't come in, because—?" Tony says leadingly.

"Because then you'd stop me from signing up to get married," Peter says.

Right. This is on Tony. He should've forcibly scanned everyone and overseen decon himself. Of course someone affected was going to lie about it. "Right. Well, I was unable to stop you, but I have bought you, so come here."

Peter comes over. Tony's plans to stick him with the injector containing the antidote are briefly derailed when Peter throws his arms around Tony's neck and says, "You did buy me. You're my husband now." And then Peter kisses Tony.

It's awkward, not least because Peter is currently drugged. Peter has no idea what he's doing, even though Tony could've sworn the kid had a girlfriend or boyfriend or something along the way, even if it wasn't the series of one night stands Tony had at his age. Peter's mouth clips his too fast. He cuts Tony's lip on his teeth, then doubles down, actually gnawing at Tony's bottom lip. It shouldn't be sexy. It's _not_ sexy. Tony has no idea how or why he enjoys it, but he's pretty sure the fact that he does makes him a bad person.

Tony lets it go on for a moment to see if Peter will stop on his own, then he tries pushing Peter back with a hand to his sternum—except Peter just leans in like Tony is petting at his chest instead of trying to get him to back off. Tony mentally heaves a sigh and jabs Peter in the bicep with the injector. It takes it a while to have an effect. In that time, Peter gets Tony's belt and pants undone, sucks a mark into the side of Tony's neck that he swears he can feel down to the bone, and shoves his hands down the front of Tony's boxers to cup Tony's very confused but extremely present boner.

Tony knows when Peter's come back to himself instead of the fucked up programming the pollen was running, because he goes from rutting against Tony's thigh to removing his hands from Tony's person and leaping back several feet, stumbling and almost falling over as he tries to get away. Tony's breathing hard, first from trying to push Peter away, then from, well, everything else. The worst part is—despite the way Peter mauled his neck and mouth and the fact that it definitely wasn't Peter at the wheel there—Tony was into it. Tony's still into it. He put up enough protest that he can live with himself, but it's going to be an uneasy détente with his conscience for a while, because after thirty seconds, Tony gave up on stopping Peter and settled for enjoying the ride while the antidote kicked in. There is a very real, very terrible part of himself that's disappointed it didn't take longer.

"So that happened," Tony says. He pulls his pants back up.

Peter's face is drained of blood except two bright marks of red on his cheeks. His eyes are wide. His lips are parted slightly, and Tony is an awful person, because he can't help but linger on them, red and wet and ready to be taught how to kiss Tony for real. Peter's body is stiff, the lines of him rigid. He looks ready to bolt.

"Mr. Stark." Peter sounds devastated. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Tony plans to do enough worrying about it for the both of them.

"Are you—" Peter's voice cracks. "Are you okay?"

"Trust me, I've had worse than a few rough kisses and a little light groping from a very attractive young man." Tony does up his belt. "And for the record, if anything had happened, it wouldn't have been your fault—" Peter makes a noise of protest Tony ignores, talks right over. "—and if you'd needed it, I would have been happy to help." Too happy, really, as evidenced by the situation in Tony's pants. "Seriously, wipe that look off your face. On the off chance anything like this ever happens again, you can rest easy knowing you have my blessing."

"You tried pushing me away," Peter says. He doesn't seem reassured. He reaches out a hand and immediately pulls it back. "Your neck."

Tony goes to touch it and experiences regret as soon as he moves that arm. "Yeah, that's going to be an impressive hickey." Tony sighs. He pats Peter on the shoulder with his good side. "I promise: I tried to push you away for your sake. We're fine. This is fine."

Peter doesn't look like he believes Tony. Tony's delivery was a little weak. This isn't fine, and Tony's not fine—but it's not because Peter stuck his hand down Tony's pants. It's because Tony would like Peter to put his hands _back_.

"Besides," Tony says, corner of his mouth kicking up with a morbid sense of amusement, "I _am_ your husband."

Peter groans and sticks his face in his hands. Apparently making a joke of it was enough to reassure him. "Can we pretend none of this happened?"

"Not a chance." Tony calls up the documentation on proper decon procedure. He clears his throat. "So, first thing's first: what have we learned from this?"

Peter gets a thorough refresher course to accompany his object lesson on the consequences of cutting corners when it comes to handling hazardous materials. Tony expects that to be the end of it, an awkward moment they'll move past, like when Tony had to walk Peter through cleaning the inside of the suit or that time Peter used his security override to get in the labs Tony had locked down for reasons that were far more self-indulgent than professional and discovered firsthand that no, Tony wasn't actually working.

* * *

It's not the end of it.

When they track down the supplier, Tony gets a face full of the pollen—dust—drug—whatever one wants to call it—and is hit by a number of impulses. Some of them, he's able to beat down, apply logic to. Others, not so much.

Tony shouldn't have dialed back the helmet just because he was alone in the lab where it was developed. What the hell kind of security system is this, anyway? Tony goes to activate comms and tell everyone he's been compromised—except he can't, because then they'd stop him, and he needs—he needs—

Fuck, maybe he's not doing such a great job beating down the impulses after all. He's not going to embarrass himself by signing up to get married. He's not. He's—he's already got a husband, doesn't he? Tony bought him fair and square and somehow he hasn't consummated it yet. And he does need to tell someone about being hit. Peter—he needs to find Peter, Peter who is his husband. Peter will take care of this, take care of him. That's what spouses do.

Peter's in the room where the operation was storing its supply. The Avengers have all of the various goons and scientists and straight up drug dealers stored there, too, ziptied and awaiting arrest. The rest of the Avengers have got this. Tony ignores them to pull Peter aside. They can't talk here. None of these criminals should get to see Peter's face.

"Hey, kid, need your help with something real quick," Tony says, putting a hand on Peter's shoulder and pulling him along.

Peter comes willingly. "Did you find something in the lab? Are we going there?"

"Yep." Tony certainly found something. And the lab is empty—as good a place as any for this that isn't Tony's bedroom, where he can lay Peter out in bed and take his time. Later. That can come later. Tony can show restraint. It's like the drug is barely affecting him at all. Hasn't he always wanted this?

(There's a small voice in Tony's head screaming, but it doesn't fit the general shape of Tony's thoughts right now. Must be the drug. Tony ignores it.)

When the door's closed and locked behind Tony with a quick twist of his hand, he turns to Peter and says, "Hey, take off the mask. This is a face to face sort of conversation."

"Is everything okay?" Peter's voice is uncertain, like he thinks there's something wrong.

Tony reassures him. "Everything's great. Now, mask off. Indulge me." Didn't his mom once say husbands were meant to be a little indulgent? She was talking about the flowers Howard had brought home and which Jarvis put into vases around the house, but it applies. Tony has a husband right now. He should be indulged. Tony raises his hand to remove the mask himself, but Peter catches it. "It's okay. FRIDAY can disable the cameras. FRIDAY? Disable the cameras."

"I don't think that's the problem here," Peter says slowly.

Tony has two hands. Instead of going for the mask, he puts his other hand to the spider icon on Peter's chest and hits the override. Peter's expression is unimpressed as Tony beams at him. "That's better."

"Sir, I think—"

Tony doesn't know what Peter thinks, because he's too busy kissing him, awkwardly achieved over where Peter's holding Tony's hand. Tony doesn't object to a little romantic handholding, but Peter really ought to move their hands down so Tony can get a better angle licking his way into Peter's mouth.

"Karen, call the team," Peter says as he jerks his head back. Then, after he takes a breath, "Wait, don't call the team. We're fine."

"We are, aren't we?" Tony asks, pleads with Peter to tell him this is alright as he skims a hand under his shirt. The Iron Spider suit is superior in every way but one: Peter can and does wear clothes under it.

"Yeah, definitely," Peter says and kisses Tony.

They're fine. This is fine. Tony needs to take off Peter's pants, so he does. Peter's hands are in his hair. They're encouraging when Tony moves his kisses down Peter's neck, down his chest—when Tony drops to his knees on the concrete floor and mouths sloppily at the head of Peter's dick.

Someone's knocking at the lab door. It's not important right now.

What's important is Peter shoving his dick down Tony's throat and Tony trying not to choke on it. This is fine. Tony wants this. Tony wanted this before the pollen, has engaged in some guilty fantasies about this on the occasional bad night, when he was drunk and weak and lonely, wondering what it would be like to let himself say yes to the possibilities present every time Peter looks at him, all hero worship and lust and adoration. Tony has thought about this, what Peter's dick would feel like heavy on his tongue, what he would taste like. Admittedly, he hadn't considered the possibility of choking to death, but Peter gentles after that first brutal thrust. Peter tastes of salt and musk. Peter's making these amazing little noises intermixed with the words "Mr. Stark" and "Tony" and "Please, sir, please."

This is good. Tony knows this deep inside, even in the part of himself that hasn't stopped shouting. He likes it. He loves it. It's good. It's so, so good. He never wants it to stop.

Someone breaks the door down as Peter comes down his throat.

* * *

"So all that talk about proper procedure," Peter says. They're sitting several feet apart on the couch in Tony's office at the Avengers Compound, post application of antidotes and debriefing and Peter's awkward request to talk about it. "It didn't sink in at all for _you_, did it?"

"You've always known I'm more of a do as I say and not as I do kind of guy," Tony says. He has a cup of tea in his hands, topped up with lemon and honey. It's supposed to help with his sore throat. Maybe it would if he actually drank it. "What was it I said when we met? Don't do anything I would do."

"I'm not fourteen anymore," Peter says.

"I'm aware." Tony's all too aware.

Peter grew up and filled out. He joined the Avengers and went to college and somewhere in the process went from the box firmly labeled "not interested" to the one labeled "bad idea." This second box was surrounded by barbed wire and sirens, but apparently that wasn't enough of a deterrent when drugs got involved. Now it feels like the defenses are all gone. The box still says "bad idea," but it's been crossed out, and underneath, there's the words "exactly as amazing as predicted" and "let's do it again." Tony really, really wants to do it again.

Tony rubs a hand against his face. "I was sloppy, and you paid for it. I'm sorry."

"_I_ paid for it?" Peter says.

"We've already established I'm more than willing to have sex with you," Tony says.

Peter's got a weird expression on his face. Tony's trying to apologize here. He doesn't know what more he can say. Peter moves closer, steals Tony's tea from his unresisting hands, and puts it on the floor. He says, "What would you do if I kissed you right now?"

Tony doesn't have the drug as an excuse. He has nothing but the memory of Peter's dick in his mouth and the thread of hope in Peter's voice and his own inability to resist to blame for the way he reaches out and pulls Peter into another kiss. It's controlled this time. Teeth aren't involved. Their lips move gently together. Peter parts his lips, and the kiss gets a little wetter. He hesitantly touches the tip of his tongue to Tony's bottom lip. Tony opens up and lets Peter in.

Peter puts his hands on Tony's shoulders. He climbs into Tony's lap, thighs bracketing Tony's hips. His groin brushes Tony's lower abdomen, and Tony can feel that he's already half hard. Peter runs his hands through Tony's hair, alternately stroking and tugging gently. Tony's into it. He's very, very into it. He's almost dizzy with how fast the blood is rushing south.

They should probably talk about this. That would be the responsible thing to do.

Tony palms at Peter's ass and encourages him to rub off against Tony's stomach. Tony can't stop kissing Peter. When Peter pulls his mouth away, tipping his head back to moan, Tony switches to his throat, scraping his teeth along Peter's skin and sucking tiny little marks there. Peter heals fast. Tony's not going to leave anything like the hickey that's faded, but present on Tony's neck.

Tony wants to leave a mark. He wants to leave proof that this is happening, that this happened. He doesn't want Peter to ever forget. Tony won't. He thinks he'll remember this moment for the rest of his life—the rough denim of Peter's jeans and the feel of his ass beneath—the sounds Peter's making, growing desperate as he gets closer—the expression of bliss on his face—the way his entire body jerks as he comes.

"Wow." Peter's grinning, but he makes a face when he shifts. Tony would worry about the regret there, but from the way Peter's undoing his fly, it's almost certainly confined to the fact he came in his pants like the teenager he just barely still is. Peter says, "Can I—?"

"Knock yourself out," Tony says.

Peter's still hard when he draws himself out, but rather than doing anything with that—and Tony is very interested in exploring the fact that Peter's ability to go again right away wasn't an effect of the drug—he slides off Tony's lap, drops to his knees, and opens up Tony's pants to return the favor from earlier. He's not all that skilled. He doesn't try to deep throat Tony, sticks to sloppy kisses at the head and along the sides, licking enough to get everything wet, then takes the first couple inches and gets the rest with his hand. It's Peter. Tony doesn't need anything more than that. The image of Peter's lips stretched around Tony's dick alone is enough to get Tony there.

Then Tony notices that Peter's using his other hand to jerk off in the same rhythm as he's using on Tony, and that's it. Tony has enough time to say, "I'm going to—" and instead of pulling back, Peter sucks in earnest, swallowing as Tony spills inside him.

"Wow," Tony echoes Peter's earlier sentiment. He pets Peter's hair as Peter pushes his face into Tony's thigh. "Good job. Gold star. That was very nice." Tony would like to say that this is a lingering side effect of the drug or the antidote, but the truth is he always gets a little stupid post-orgasm before the inspiration and blinding brilliance kick back in. "Five stars, would come again."

Peter snorts a laugh, then moans as Tony tugs at his hair. Interesting. Very interesting.

"Anything I can do to help?" Tony asks. He pulls Peter's hair again, and the lines of Peter's body go stiff as he comes a second time. Tony cards his fingers gently through Peter's hair, stroking him through it.

"I think I got come on your couch," Peter says.

"Join the club." Tony's floating on endorphins and optimism. That has to be why he says, "Want to do this again sometime?" The hope in Peter's eyes burns. Tony thinks he could happily immolate. "Get dinner first, see a movie, make a whole thing of it?"

"I'd like that," Peter says.

They clean up. There's no fixing the wet spot on Peter's pants, but fortunately he keeps spare clothes in his room here. Tony throws the used tissue in the little trash can by his desk—it's seen worse—and smooths down his shirt. Before Peter leaves, he steals another kiss, a soft, sweet promise for the future.

"Hey, Tony?" Peter says. He's smiling. "I'm glad you bought me."

Tony grins. "Best purchase I ever made."

**Author's Note:**

> Content notes: This leans a lot harder on the consent issues than normal with some really dark implications for how the "mail order spouse pollen" is being used in the background. For Peter and Tony, both are already into each other, but also just as clearly not in control of their actions when under the influence of the pollen. Also, the very first scene, Tony (not under the influence) tries to stop Peter (under the influence) and isn't able to. He states that he doesn't mind for his own sake, but instead for Peter's, but he also just as clearly had no intention of ever initiating anything with him, even though he is attracted. Just, uh, in general, I tend to do a softer focus on dubious consent, but while this one has a happy ending, it's not in quite the same vein as my usual.
> 
> Also, this was written for an exchange and was finally redated with author reveals. Sorry if you see it twice from reading the collection/reading really far back in the tags.


End file.
